that summer, we fell in love
by AtobeLover
Summary: The clearest memory in my head is of you smiling at me. And the only other thing I remember about that moment is that I was telling you that you're never supposed to smile, because you're a rock. You laughed, and my world was complete. But then you went to Germany, and my world was incomplete once more.-Don't like, don't read. No flames.-


Title: that summer, we fell in love

By: AtobeLover

Summary: The clearest memory in my head is of you smiling at me. And the only other thing I remember about that moment is that I was telling you that you're never supposed to smile, because you're a rock. You laughed, and my world was complete. But then you went to Germany, and my world was incomplete once more.

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Of Tennis.

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A/N: TezuMomo. Hmm. Will you read it? Or just flame like a hateful bitch because it's not a conventional pair and it doesn't involve Ryoma in any way? Don't get me wrong, I love Ryoma, and I share my goddamn birthday with him, Christmas Eve (I am _not_ kidding), but like I said, there are some assholes out there who are just so bigoted. Hope you're not one. If you appreciate quirky pairs or like my writing, I hope you'll review.

The songs I listened to while writing this: (listen to the song[s] of your choice while reading this, and sob quietly into your hand.)

Laugh, I Nearly Died - The Rolling Stones

Pieces - Red

Permanent - David Cook

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Fields of corn swaying in a light breeze under a blue, blue sky, and there's nothing around us as we search the skies for clouds in a clearing, and all I'm thinking is, this better not turn out to be Twilight.

And then I'm thinking, are you Bella, or am I Bella?

I turn to you and ask this question, and you say you've never heard of Twilight, what's Twilight, so I sigh a sigh of relief and change the conversation to tennis and your arm, which can't recover unless you take a long break from the sport you've made your life, and it's sad. I don't really feel sadness for anything, or anyone, but seeing you twists my insides in a way I haven't felt since my grandma died, and I'd cried that time. I'm wondering which moment with you will make me cry. It's not come yet.

"I'm going to need extensive treatment for my arm," you tell me, and I feel a pang of hate for the cruel boys who broke a part of you those few years ago.

"Will you quit the tennis club?" I ask, brushing my hand against yours, because while I'm considered smooth with girls, you're someone else entirely, someone who I think I'm serious about.

I'm serious about you.

The epiphany takes me by storm, and the weather today just seems against me, because I can hear birds chirping, and feel the golden corn showers on us, and inside my head there's a hurricane raging on, and I look at you in a not-so-different light. I loved you before, and I love you now. Just the intensity's changed.

I'm serious about you. Maybe you'll be my husband in some other lifetime, and I'll be the wife wearing a Kiss The Cook apron. I'm smiling at myself for the stupidity in that thought.

"I don't know," you answer, and there's this laziness about you, this feeling of being relaxed, that's really unlike you, and I love this part of you just like I respect the captain part of you.

"I hope you don't. I'd like to spend more time with you." These are words I'd never have said to An Tachibana. She's not really in my head right now, I can't even see her face, but her name will crop up at moments like this one, where I'm watching your face and my actions.

You're smiling at me. And then other words slip out my mouth. "You're not supposed to smile. You're a rock." It's true, anyway, but I'm embarrassed I just said that. I blush a bit, and you turn, so you're on your side, facing me. I turn so I'm on my side, facing you, too. You raise a hand to slowly stroke my face, and it's clear that I'm the girl in this relationship.

I'm not really complaining.

"A rock?" you inquire, the corners of your mouth still turned up. I took your glasses off a long time ago, while walking to this space which is nowhere, and they're lost in this cornfield.

"I'm sorry I said that," I say, leaning into your touch. You're still stroking my face, and there's an intimacy to this, a secret and a shy kiss locked up in our gazes.

You laugh softly, and the thought that runs through my head is that _I can die in peace, now._

You lean in and kiss my mouth in that innocent way of yours that tells me you've never really gone past hugging before. Maybe not even that.

"First kiss?" I ask, and you nod after a while, and because we're on our sides, it looks funny, and I'm smiling widely and really, really happy, because I took my captain's first kiss in a golden field with a blue sky and wispy white clouds over me. I never knew fields like the one we're in could be in Tokyo. You led me here, and now I'm going to stay in your heart forever, I'll make sure of that.

"Takeshi," you mutter my name, trying it out, because before this it's always been _fifty laps, Momoshiro._

I lick my name off your lips, and I could seriously live here in this minute forever. No hamburgers, no sodas, no crude porn magazines, just you and me watching each other, stealing kisses.

You come closer, grab a fistful of my shirt, and rest your head in the crook of my neck-shoulder.

"I'm leaving for Germany next week," you whisper into my skin, and I don't understand your voice. "What?" I ask, stumbling back into the not-so-golden field, beneath the not-so-blue skies. Not so bright anymore.

You repeat what you just said, confused, because you'd said it clearly enough the first time. And my dream shatters. You said your words of goodbye at exactly the moment where I was thinking of us here, forever. You're leaving. Going halfway across the world, lulling me into a sense of security and love before dropping the bombshell.

"Buchou-" I start, heartbroken, and you interrupt me with a flash of the tennis captain ire in your eyes. "Don't you dare call me by that title, not here, not now-"

I start crying.

That moment's here. The only time I've cried since my grandma died.

You haven't let go of me, sloppily wiping my tears. "I love your purple eyes," you say, and I cry harder. I want to get up, but let me live in this fucked-up heaven a bit longer.

"I love your red mouth, I love your freckled skin, I love your Dunk Smash, I love your spiky hair, I love everything about you, I love the way you talk, I love the way you become awkward sometimes, you're a great tennis player, I love you," you breathe into my ear, and I'm shuddering under the weight of the pieces of my broken dream.

You're holding me, you broke me, why did you fool me like this. I get up weakly. You get up, too, having obviously realized that a mostly-romantic moment in some nondescript field (which I'll never visit again) was the worst time ever to spring this type of goodbye on me. You're clueless. You've never seen anything past tennis and your injured arm and my best friend, _Ryoma,_ and the first thing you _did_ see past all of that, you screwed it up. We were only a month into this relationship. You shouldn't have accepted when I asked you out, Captain, you shouldn't have made me say goodbye to you as a teammate and friend and junior and lover.

"Let's go back," I suggest, and you agree. You try to hold my hand, and I let you hold my hand.

* * *

The airport is busy, and there are people who've got places and meetings to be at and people's hands to shake and faces to smile at hurrying everywhere, and the Seigaku tennis team is standing in the middle of the crowd, silently saying goodbye to the greatest tennis player they know. I'm amongst them, and you're searching for my gaze, I'm not giving it to you, I'm not giving anything to you anymore. You've burned me once. Not twice.

"Farewell," you say, the word sounding final, _you're never going to see me for the rest of your lives. _Without looking, I know you're looking at me and saying that hateful word. Then to the rest of the team, who don't suspect a thing, of course, you say, "Yudan sezu ni ikou."

These familiar words, the words I've heard since I joined the tennis club make me choke on my breath, but that's normal nowadays.

You drop your carry-on bag and come towards me, and capture my lips in a kiss that stuns me and the rest of the team. "I'm sorry," you tell me, and they can hear this, and now they know who we are to each other, and a small part of my heart cuts itself away from the rest and seals itself in your carry-on bag.

"It's okay." I force a smile onto my face. I kiss you again, and then you have to go because boarding's starting, and, do you want to know something, Tezuka Kunimitsu?

If I could, I would live all of this all over again, and regret it each time.

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**If you liked it, review. I love you.**


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